


Surviving

by Larry_Klaine_Stylinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self Harm, self injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 16:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larry_Klaine_Stylinson/pseuds/Larry_Klaine_Stylinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry finds out that Louis' been self harming and urges him to seek proper help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surviving

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a prompt fill on Tumblr.
> 
> Obvious trigger warnings for self harm. Please don't read if you think you might be easily triggered. <3

Harry had noticed Louis acting a bit strange over the past month. He'd started wearing long sleeved shirts to bed, and Harry could tell he was warm, because he'd get sweaty and whiny and kick the covers off in his sleep, but Harry didn't want to question his clothing choices because he knew Louis could be insecure sometimes and he didn't want him feeling that way.

He'd also noticed Louis getting fidgety in interviews, the way he used to back when they were younger and Louis was just getting used to the media attention. The way he used to tug at the hem of his shirt and cross his arms in front of his stomach, as if he thought he wasn't the most gorgeous thing anyone could ever lay their eyes on. It hurt Harry to think that Louis had ever thought badly of himself, because in Harry's eyes, Louis was perfect. Louis was everything. The fans had helped to boost Louis' confidence a bit, and Harry had done the rest, kissing the breath out of Louis whenever he could tell he was thinking something bad about himself. But the fidgeting he was doing now was different. He was tugging at his shirt sleeves, pulling them down over his hands. Harry was starting to think that maybe he was hiding something.

He'd tried talking to him about it, multiple times, but Louis had brushed him off saying, "Don't be silly, Harold. I'm just cold." or "What could possibly be the matter?" or completely avoiding the question all together and asking Harry what was for dinner, or if he felt like watching a film.

They hardly ever did anything past making out anymore, and if they did, the lights were off. Harry hated that. Louis was gorgeous and he wanted to be able to look at him. He needed to find out what was wrong, because he was worried. He wished Louis felt like he could trust him enough to tell him what was the matter. Louis should trust him. They'd been together for long enough. Been through so much. Why didn't Louis want to tell him what was the matter?

000

Louis had just been forced to spend yet another weekend out with Eleanor. Something about people throwing a fit about some look Harry had given him in an interview earlier in the week and how if he didn't go spend some time with El, things were going to go downhill and fast.

Louis hadn't started out hating Eleanor. She was a nice girl. Pleasant to be around. She laughed at his jokes, and it was a genuine laugh, not an 'oh, it's my job to be here' laugh. But after so long having to spend time with her every time he and Harry got close in public, it all became too much, and he was beginning to hate her. Really, truly hate her. And there were very few people that Louis Tomlinson really and truly hated.

He'd come home and Harry had been in the kitchen cooking something, and Louis had told him he'd be right back, and he'd quickly rushed off to the bathroom. He opened the cabinet, grabbing out his little shaving kit and pulling out the broken razor blade he kept hidden in there.

He pulled up his left sleeve, taking a glance at his arm. He didn't know how it had gotten so bad so quickly. It had started off as one cut, just one tiny little cut on his right wrist. He'd heard about people doing these things, of course he had. But he hadn't thought it would actually help. He'd wanted to try it. Just...Just to see. To prove to himself that it wouldn't help. But the problem was that it had helped. The pain had numbed his mind and taken away all his stupid thoughts about Harry and Eleanor and Management and how sometimes he wished he and Harry could just quit the band and run away. He'd watched the blood slowly ooze from the cut and it had looked so beautiful, and nothing else really mattered.

After that he'd made a few more little cuts here and there on his right wrist, thinking that if he kept doing this with his non-dominant hand that maybe things wouldn't get too bad. He couldn't put too much force behind it and everything would be fine. The scars healed almost completely, just leaving tiny, nearly unnoticeable white marks in their wake.

But then he'd had a particularly bad week. He'd gotten in trouble for putting a hand on Harry's leg in an interview and so had been sent out on three very public very pap filled dates with El which involved a lot of kissing and a lot of holding hands and then he'd arrived home only to be yelled at by the one person he needed to hold him more than anything, and he didn't even know why Harry was mad. And that was the day that he'd begun cutting with his right hand. Absolutely wrecking the flesh of his left wrist, cutting deep and watching the blood seep from the wound, dripping from his arm and onto the floor.

Things had escalated quickly after that and Louis was stuck wearing long sleeved shirts at all times, not letting Harry see him shirtless for even a split second. Because now as he looked at his arm, he saw the result of everything he'd done. He saw angry pink and red scars trailing halfway up his forearm, these scars taking ages to heal, and Louis wondered if they were so bad that they'd never turn white. He couldn't really say that he cared, though, at this point. He was too far down this road to think of turning back. He couldn't bring himself to stop, and he certainly couldn't tell anyone. What would Harry think? What would the lads think? They'd think he was weak, or crazy, or absolutely stupid for doing this to himself. And he wasn't any of those things, he wasn't.

He just needed something to take the pain away, and this was it. This made him feel better when he had to spend weeks and weeks in the public eye with no chance to touch Harry, or when he ended up accidentally touching Harry out of instinct and he was stuck spending hours upon hours with El. This fixed it. This took away the heartache, replacing it with a very real pain which he preferred to the pain in his chest.

He took a deep breath, setting the metal against his flesh before pushing down and dragging it across. He let the breath out through his teeth, feeling his skin ripping apart beneath the blade. He looked down to watch as the blood trickled down his skin, a drop hitting the floor.

Just then, the door swung open, "Hey, Lou, have you seen my-?" Harry stopped mid sentence.

Louis had scrambled to pull his sleeve down, tossing the razor blade across the room and standing up from where he'd been sitting on the floor. He looked at Harry, his heart pounding in his chest, and he felt like he might faint.

"Lou?" Harry asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

Louis bit his lip, looking everywhere but at Harry.

"Lou, you're bleeding." Harry said, walking over to Louis and taking his arm.

Louis tried to wrench his arm out of the younger boy's grasp, but Harry held tight. He pulled the sleeve up slowly, his eyes settling on the fresh wound, and then traveling down along all the scars that were in plain sight.

"Louis." Harry whispered.

Louis pulled his arm away quickly, pulling his sleeve down as tears filled his eyes. Harry was going to break up with him now, he just knew it. This was the end of the band as well. They'd send him to the loony bin.

"Why?" Harry asked, his voice still nothing more than a whisper.

Louis shrugged, looking down at his feet and noticing the drop of blood from earlier.

"Look at me, Louis." Harry said, a little louder now.

Louis looked up at Harry, tear filled blue eyes meeting crying green ones.

"Why'd you do this to yourself, Lou?" Harry asked, shaking his head slowly.

"It helps."

"Helps what?" Harry asked, his eyes searching Louis' face.

"Helps me not...Not hurt? Helps me not feel sad? I don't know, Harry." Louis said, frustrated at not being able to put his feelings into words.

"I'm supposed to help with that." Harry said, taking Louis' hands in his and holding them, even as a small trickle of Louis' blood seeped out from beneath his sleeve, running down between their entwined fingers. "Why didn't you tell me, Louis? Why?"

"I didn't want you to hate me. I didn't want you to send me off to some hospital for mental people and leave me there. I didn't-"

"Shh." Harry hushed him, sitting down on the floor and pulling Louis with him. "I would never."

Louis watched as Harry opened up their little cabinet beneath their sink, grabbing a first aid kit and cleaning off Louis' wound before placing a proper bandage over it. He pulled Louis' shirt off then, the sleeve stained in blood, and took a look at both of Louis' arms, running his fingers gently over all of the scars.

"How long?" He asked.

"What?"

"How long have you been doing this?"

Louis shrugged, "A month and a half, maybe?"

"Jesus." Harry breathed. "And you've already done all this?"

"It's been a bad month."

"What was so bad that it brought you to this?" Harry asked, leaning against their bathtub and pulling Louis in to rest against his chest.

Louis snuggled in close, closing his eyes, "Just...Not being able to touch you when we're out. Not even a simple hand on your back like I used to. And so much time with El, Harry. They upped it so much and I don't know what we did wrong. Management's just been breathing down my neck and I couldn't take it, Harry, I couldn't."

"But why didn't you come to me? Try and talk things out with me? You know I'm always here. You know I love you more than anything."

"I don't know." Louis said honestly. "I just don't know. It just happened, Harry. And it helped, so I just kept doing it and doing it and now here we are and I don't know if I can stop, Harry."

"You have to." Harry said, sounding very serious. "You've got to stop."

Louis nodded, beginning to cry, "Don't tell the lads, Hazza, please." He begged.

Harry rubbed soothing circles along Louis' hip with his thumb, "If you don't want me to, then I won't." He assured him. "But I think it would be best if you told them, when you're ready."

Louis didn't think he'd ever be ready, but he nodded just the same.

"Louis, I want you to get better." Harry said. "I want to help you. But this problem is too big for me to handle on my own, boo. We need to get you some real help. From a professional."

"No, Harry, please don't make me." Louis begged. "Please." The tears were beginning to fall faster.

"Lou, you've got to. I need you to get better. You've got to get better. I can't see you hurting like this, I can't." Harry was crying now, too, and it really sunk in for Louis how serious this all was. Up until this point he hadn't been letting himself truly think about it, because he knew it was bad for him, and he didn't want to stop. "Please let me get you some help."

"Yeah." Louis nodded. "Yeah, okay."

"I'll find you someone good, okay, Louis? Trust me."

"I do." Louis told him.

000

Harry spent three whole days calling different therapists trying to get one he thought would be right for Louis. He'd asked Louis to join him. To help him, because really only he could know what he wanted in a therapist, but Louis had insisted that Harry do it for him, completely trusting him to find one that would suit him, and Harry had taken the job very seriously. He knew that if he picked the wrong one, Louis might refuse to go back, and he didn't want that. He wanted Louis better.

So after hours and hours every day for three days of calling around, he finally found someone. A woman in her early thirties who specialized in self harm and anxiety problems, she was lovely on the phone and sounded like the sweetest person you could ever meet, and Harry had been certain she was the one for Louis.

And now, five days later, Harry was sitting in the waiting room at her office. Louis had gone in there forty five minutes ago, so Harry was expecting him back any minute now. He tapped his foot and played around on his phone, and then Louis was coming out of the cozy little room he'd gone in to earlier, and his eyes were puffy and red rimmed, and Harry hoped he'd been crying because he was working through his problems and not because he hated it here.

Louis went over to the woman at the desk and Harry heard him arranging another appointment for the same time next week, and Harry was ecstatic.

He went over to stand by Louis as they arranged everything, and then he linked arms with him, not caring that technically they were in public, because this was a therapist's office and their secret relationship should be safe here.

Harry took him out for lunch and they sat in a booth and talked quietly about how his appointment had gone and how he felt about his therapist and if he thought this was going to be of much help, and Harry was so proud of him for taking the steps to recovery.

000

Harry had known it was going to be a long hard road, but what he hadn't expected was to catch Louis in the act three more times in the four months since he'd started going to therapy. Louis insisted he was doing better. That he used to do it a lot more and that maybe the reason Harry kept catching him was because he wanted him to find him. Wanted him to stop him and take him into his arms and remind him how much he loved him and that everything would be alright, but that didn't stop Harry from worrying. Worrying that Louis might never get better.

However, after six months of going to therapy once a week, Louis came to Harry and told him that he wanted to tell the rest of the lads. That his therapist had told him that might be what he needed to truly start the healing process. To just be honest with everyone. He'd told his mum back when he'd first started therapy, and that had gone smoothly. They both just hoped it would go as well with the lads.

000

Louis had told Harry he wanted to fill the lads in on everything that was happening, so Harry had called them and invited them over for pizza. Louis was sitting on Harry's lap now, anxiously awaiting the boys' arrival. The doorbell rang and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Harry gently removed him from his lap, going to the door and coming back with four large pizzas.

"Wasn't the lads yet, babe." Harry told him, sitting down next to him and taking his hand.

"I wish they'd hurry up. I need to just get it out. I need to just say it, Hazza."

"They'll be here."

Harry ran a finger soothingly along Louis' palm, and Louis closed his eyes, resting his head against Harry's shoulder, breathing deeply. The doorbell rang again, and Louis jolted up.

"I'll get it." Harry smiled, kissing Louis on the cheek as he walked to the door, opening it and letting the lads inside.

"Hey, Lou!" Niall greeted.

"How are you, Louis?" Zayn smiled, plopping down in a chair.

"Hiya." Liam said, sitting on the far end of the couch before Niall ran over, plopping down in his lap and causing the brown eyed lad to let out a small 'oof!'.

Louis chuckled, "Hi, boys."

Harry came back over, sitting down next to Louis and taking his hand, squeezing it gently, "Before we dig in, Lou's got something to say."

"Are you pregnant?!" Niall joked.

"Shut up, you idiot." Zayn laughed.

"Um, no." Louis shook his head, not in the mood to laugh at a joke at this very moment. This was going to be hard to say. "For the past six months, I've been going to therapy." He began.

All eyes were on him now, looking thoroughly concerned and maybe a bit confused and intrigued.

"Tell them what for." Harry urged, squeezing Louis' hand and giving him a reassuring smile.

"For...For self harming?" Louis said, the words coming from his mouth as more of a question than a fact. "I'd been self harming for...A while. And Harry found out, and he made me go and get help. And it's still hard, but I'm doing a lot better, lads. And my therapist said that perhaps if I told you lot it'd get a weight off my chest, and maybe it'll help me get better even faster."

"Oh, Lou." Liam said, sounding a bit down. "Wish you'd told me sooner. I would've given you the biggest hug."

Harry chuckled, "Hug him now then, Li."

"I would if this twat would get off me." Liam said, shoving at Niall.

Niall jumped up, running at Louis and scooping him into his arms, "I got here first!" Niall yelled as he pulled away from the hug, only to wrap his arms around Louis again and completely lift him from the couch.

"No fair!" Liam said. "You cheated." He shoved Niall off of Louis, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tight. "I was meant to be first."

"It's the thought that counts." Louis smiled.

"Alright, alright." Zayn said. "My turn."

Liam let go of Louis, and he spun around to face Zayn, and they wrapped their arms around each other tightly, "When I was younger I almost got into that as well." Zayn whispered. "You could've come to me. I'm glad you're getting the help you need now, though."

"I had no idea." Louis whispered back. "Thanks, mate."

Zayn let go of him and they all sat back down and grabbed pizza, completely forgoing plates and just shoving the food into their mouths.

Louis hadn't expected everything to go so well. He'd expected yelling and cursing and angry words and feelings getting hurt. But what he had gotten was a whole lot of love and cuddles, and he was pretty sure that was exactly what he needed to get better.

000

Three more months passed, and Louis' therapist only had him coming once a month now.

After telling the lads, things had gotten a lot better. He could wear short sleeves around them and no one even took a second glance at his arms. No one paid any mind to his scars, except for Harry, who would trail his fingers across them when he could tell Louis had something on his mind. He'd kiss them sometimes, too, when the two of them were alone, trailing his mouth over each little patch of discolored, puffy skin.

He'd whisper soft, loving words and hold Louis close and remind him that he never needed to hurt himself, because there were people who loved him, and they'd always be there.

000

A year after Harry had found Louis in the bathroom with the razor in his hand, Louis was finally done with therapy. He hadn't hurt himself in over four months, and he was happy. He was so happy.

He'd gone out in public without long sleeves on for the first time last month, and the response from the fans had been instantaneous. Everyone tweeting him to tell him how brave he was, or to explain to him that they struggled with the same problem and that the boys and their music had helped them through it. Those ones made Louis smile immensely. The fact that he and the boys could help someone who had been hurting as much as he had just by doing what they loved and making music, it was a beautiful thing.

Today was a special day, because today, Harry was getting a new tattoo. And this one was extremely special.

Louis was at the tattoo shop with him, and Harry was telling the man exactly what he wanted.

He was getting it on his left arm, right where most of Louis' scars were collected on his own arm. It was a small heart with a little symbol inside that the two of them had come up with together. A symbol that would have no real meaning to just anyone who saw it, because it had no real meaning to anyone but Harry and Louis, since they'd invented it.

The symbol stood for a lot of things, though, really. It stood for Louis and how brave and strong he was, and it stood for the fact that Harry would always love him, no matter what struggles he went through, but most importantly, it stood for survival. Louis surviving through his self harm and therapy, and Harry surviving through helping him, and the both of them surviving through keeping their relationship hidden from the world.

And someday, years from now, when the band was broken up and they were free to be who they truly were, they'd tell everyone what the tattoo meant.

But for now, it was their little secret.


End file.
